The Downton Duckling Drama
by Mistressdickens
Summary: Inspired by a round robin tumblr post, ducklings invade the Abbey and all hell breaks loose. Complete and utter madness


**A/N: This started life as a round robin tumblr post of madness. My thanks to Revfrong, Kissman91 and Spoonsoftea for allowing me to use their words. I highly doubt any line of this is serious.**

It had been an unremarkable Spring really, with none of the dramatic turns of event that the family and staff had grown so used to over the years. No financial disasters loomed, everyone seemed to be in the best of health, and with the entire family happily married, there was very little need for entertaining. So, the Downton Duckling Drama (as it became titled by all those who lived through it – and some future generations who had not, but loved to hear Aunt Marigold and Great Granny Cora retelling it) was a welcome distraction from the monotony of everyday life.

Although Mr Carson never admitted the fact out loud.

It began, as so many great dramas do, in a perfectly ordinary way. One fine Spring afternoon, the Housekeeper visited the Butler's pantry. That she did so with slightly more regularity these days now they were married is neither here nor there, but is worth mentioning to keep the romantics happy. The rest of this story is not going to have much recourse to romance, so we best get it out of the way.

On this particular visit, Mrs Carson opened the door to her husband's pantry, but paused in the doorway, and holding onto the handle, leaned back so she could eye her own door with some perplexity. Her question was aimed into the hallway, but her husband heard it nonetheless.

'Mr Carson, can you tell me why there is a box of ducklings on my desk?'

Mr Carson, who had not expected this question would need to be asked, given his wife's ability to deal with whatever was presented to her, stood up from his desk rather hurriedly, and only succeeded in preventing the inkwell from over turning by a very quick automatic reflex. He used this activity to cover his guilt and made to check the situation was as he had left it.

"They are still on your desk I hope?" he asked anxiously. "There should be at least four and no more than six of them."

Mrs Carson stepped fully into the room, surprised by the specific yet vague answer she had received.

"I didn't exactly have time to count them when they all poured out of the box at once," she replied tartly. "Honestly, Charles! How was I supposed to know that a random box appearing on my desk would contain ducklings?"

"The quacking didn't give it away?"

"Ducklings don't quack," she informed him with a roll of her eyes, "they peep. The quacking comes later…assuming we can find them all."

"Ah. I wasn't aware of the finer points of waterfowl vocalization."

Mrs. Carson gave an impatient cough. Her husband, who, whilst he might be lacking in essential farm knowledge, had become quite attuned to the finer points of the vocalization of his mercurial wife, was made instantly aware by this cough that he had yet to provide an explanation.

"But you want to know why there is a box of ducklings on your desk?"

"Yes, I would, actually."

"Well, I've agreed to watch them temporarily." There – that should close the matter, he thought. Which was foolish, as he should have known better

"You've agreed to wa–… Whose ducklings ARE they and why in the name of Saints George and Andrew have you agreed to watch them!?"

"Funny you should mention George…"

Mrs Carson did not appear to register this small clue to the mystery, as she ploughed on, intent on trying to decipher her husband's logic/

"And if YOU'VE agreed to watch them, WHY are they on my desk? Or rather hiding in every corner of my office by now?"

"I needed a safe place to keep them while I went over these figures," said Mr. Carson, looking anywhere but his wife. "Very safe, your desk, probably"

Mrs. Carson scoffed. "Wouldn't they be safer in here with you _watching them?"_

Mr. Carson shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't think that would be…proper. To be near the silver pantry."

"Which is locked.", she said, not even bothering to turn and check the veracity of the statement.

"So it would seem," said Mr. Carson, looking caught out.

"And it's more proper for them to be in the housekeeper's sitting room?"

Mrs. Carson fixed her husband with a firm stare. He cowered under her glance.

"They are so little," he mumbled under his breath.

"What?", she said, taking a step or two towards him, not entirely sure she had heard correctly.

"They're, um, little," said Mr. Carson slightly more audibly. "And…erm, nippy."

"Nippy."

"Well, yes, it's just when Master George asked me to watch them they seemed a little…they have little snappy beaks…"

Mrs. Carson raised her eyebrows "Are you telling me they are in my sitting room…because you are _afraid_ of them?"

Mr Carson bristled immediately. 'I am NOT afraid of ducklings! But I did not consider it appropriate for the Butler to serve at dinner with heavily bandaged fingers'

He held up his right hand, which had several sticking plasters on two fingers.

Mrs Carson couldn't help but laugh, although her merriment was interrupted by Anna's knock on the door.

'Oh there you are Mrs Hughes, I tried your sitting room first …'

'Did you shut the door behind you?'

'erm, I don't believe I did' replied Anna, bemused by the urgency of the question.

'Oh good heavens' cried Mrs Carson, rushing out into the hallway, just in time to see a tiny, yellow, feathered bottom disappear around a corner. She slumped against the doorframe, throwing her hands up in despair and then gesturning towards the corridor as she turned to look at her husband. This was clearly all his fault.

"What's going on?" asked Mr. Barrow, stepping from the servant's hall to investigate the commotion.

"The chickens are loose!" Mrs. Carson called over her shoulder as she pulled herself upright again and hurried after the escapees.

"What's this about chicken?" Mrs. Patmore called, emerging from the kitchen, watching the housekeep whip past her, and wiping her hands on her apron. "I've already settled dinner for tonight!"

"They're ducklings, to be precise," Mr. Carson interjected, looking in the direction his wife had gone with a look of mild concern.

"Whatever they are, there's more coming," observed Mr. Barrow. Stupefied, they watched as three more ducklings toddled out of the housekeeper's sitting room and then meandered off in three very different directions.

"Shouldn't you be going after them, Mr. Carson?" asked Anna, eyebrows raised. The butler cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" exclaimed Mrs. Patmore. "It's a wonder anything gets done 'round here at all."

The cook hurried after the runaway birds and turned the corner. A moment later, a shout rang out along the corridor.

'Get out of there you daft bird!' came the voice of the cook from the laundry, which was shortly followed by an exasperated Scottish brogue imploring another duckling to remove itself from Mr Banson's wellingtons.

Anna and Mr Barrow turned towards the Butler with expectant looks on their faces, which their esteemed leader did not appreciate in the slightest.

'I don't know why you're looking at me, my training did not cover how to deal with escaped ducklings.'

'Just as well your wife is slightly more capable, and willing to put up with nipped fingers then' Mrs Carson observed as she turned the corner from the boot room, carefully holding a ducking. She smiled down at the bundle of fluff in her hands, before turning to the under butler.

'Mrs Patmore says the one she tracked down has got into the mangle, and although she can hear it, she can't see it. Would you give her a hand?' Thomas inclined his head and then sauntered off down the corridor, pausing only at the corner to send a smirk towards Mr Carson as he heard the Housekeeper's next question.

'I presume you've rounded up the others?'

'Erm …. Hurr …' Mr Carson descended into a series of uncomfortable coughs and splutters, keeping his gaze on his fingers rather than daring to meet the gaze of his incredulous wife. Anna tried to come to his rescue to explain they'd all been rather surprised by the sudden appearance of the animals, but Mrs Carson was not about to be mollified.

Rescue from a tongue lashing came in the form of the back door opening to reveal Mr Molesley and Miss Baxter, who had returned from an errand in the village.

'Peeep?!'

A duckling, which had so far escaped the notice of the company, sat on the tiled floor directly in front of the door, looking up at the tall man who was, it appeared, completely unperturbed by the presence of something foreign to Downton's halls. He merely crouched, lowered his hands to the floor and waited until the duckling felt like waddling forward into them.

Mrs Carson shook her head at the touching and miraculous sight and then turned to her husband.

'That's three accounted for – I think you said there were no more than six?'

'That's what master George said, but he wasn't very clear, and too busy rushing back upstairs to hear properly.'

'Why' mused Anna 'would he have brought ducklings down here? Where would he have got them from?'

Andy, who had been clearing up from luncheon for the first part of this saga, chuckled as he came down the stairs, silver tray in hand.

'The children had a trip to Yew Tree farm this morning. Master George was very concerned that the ducklings were tormenting Mr Tiddles.'

'Who on EARTH is Mr Tiddles?' blustered Mr Carson.

'The farm cat. Miss Marigold named him when she was with the Drewes. Anyway, the ducklings were tormenting him, or so the children thought, and they persuaded Mr Mason to let them bring them home.'

'And there were six of them?' Mrs Carson asked, wanting to be quite sure she had the facts so a proper hunt could be organized.

'Well Master George has six, yes.' Andy replied looking a little baffled, 'but Miss Marigold had some as well.'

Mrs Carson felt a dreadful foreboding weigh down on her with this answer, but before she could voice her thoughts, the sound of bells filled the hall. A close inspection of the bell board revealed that their presence was required in the library, the drawing room, Lady Mary's bedroom and the great hall simultaneously.

As if that was not enough, a stream of panicked shouts issued from the kitchen, shortly followed by the distressed face of Daisy in the doorway.

'It's gone under the range! It's going to die! Oh myyyyyy God!'

'What do we do Mrs Carson?' came several voices all at once.

Mrs Carson looked between the anxious faces surrounding her, which now included a frazzled Mrs Patmore (who had not succeeded in extricating her duckling from the mangle) and Fred, the hallboy, and wondered – not for the first time – just precisely what would happen to her well-oiled machine once she had finally persuaded her husband into retirement. She looked down at the tiny ball of yellow fluff she still held in her hands, stroking its back a little absently, and formed a plan.

'Right', she said, handing over the duckling to Andy, not noticing his look of sheer panic,

'Anna, go up and see what Lady Mary wants.' Anna nodded and dashed off up the stairs

'Miss Baxter, you and I will attend to the other bells. Andy, get the box from my sitting room and take a seat in the servant's hall – found ducklings should be brought to you.' Andy moved off to find the box, staring down at the tiny bundle in his hands

Mr Carson – get your walking stick and try and get the little mite from under the range. Fred, go and see if you can tempt the one in the mangle out with a bit of bread. Mrs Patmore, Mr Molesley, find the others. I expect everything to be in order when I get back.'

She swept off up the stairs, Miss Baxter trailing in her wake, leaving the rest of the staff collected in the hallway, still looking a bit bemused as to how they had suddenly become duckling wranglers. Mr Carson, deciding that he ought to take charge, ordered everyone to start doing what his wife had instructed and went off to find his walking stick, although he didn't hold out much hope it would entice the miscreant under the range from relinquishing its hiding place. He didn't know how right he was.

Upstairs, Mrs Carson pushed through the green baize door and was greeted by a cacophony of noise. Tiaa was barking excitedly and frolicking about the feet of Lord and Lady Grantham who stared between the excited dog and three ducklings who scurried in all directions, desperately trying to get away from the playful pup.

The noise level was further increased by the laughter of Sybbie, who stood on the ottoman clapping her hands, and the wails of Marigold, who was held by her mother, who had not an idea how to stop her daughter crying.

'Oh Mrs Carson! Thank heavens!' exclaimed Cora rushing towards her and almost getting tripped by Tiaa in the process. There are ducklings EVERYWHERE and the dog wants to play with them. Could you help round them up?'

'Certainly Milady – we've been getting some experience downstairs, it shouldn't take too long', which just went to show that even the housekeeper could be naïve at times. Seeing Cora's bemused look, she hastened to explain the appearance, and escape, of the ducklings below stairs.

'I can't understand why George and Marigold should take it upon themselves to rescue farm animals' grumbled Lord Grantham, trying to calm Tiaa by scooping her into his arms. The dog objected to this curtailing of her freedom and wriggled violently, proving too much for her master, and the dog leapt from his arms and resumed her speedy tour of the great hall – managing to scare one of the ducklings into the fireplace (which thankfully wasn't lit).

'Because', came the cool and collected voice of Lady Mary on the stairs, who had gone up to her room to take off her hat, but had been distracted from the task by Anna's dramatic report, 'they both have been brought up to cherish animals and George is a gentleman who likes to defend the underdog. Well, underduck in this case.'

'He's six!' scoffed Edith, still attempting to calm her daughter, who had developed hiccoughs from all her crying. 'he hasn't the faintest idea of being a gentleman!'

Mary opened her mouth to make a cutting retort, but was prevented from further family disharmony by Mrs Carson who suggested that Lord Grantham take Tiaa for a walk, so that the ducklings weren't frightened further about the house.

The ladies of the house seemingly having things under control, we shall return downstairs.

Things were not going quite so well below stairs, and a certain young gentleman, who was the cause of this entire fiasco, sat on the stairs, quite unnoticed, observing the chaos.

Fred had had no success in tempting the duckling out from the mangle and had resorted to swearing at it, whilst kicking the base of the machine, which only succeeded in producing some alarmed peeps from within the machine.

Mr Carson had quite dispensed with his dignity and was lying completely prostrate on the kitchen floor, trying to peer under the range and sweep his stick back and forth at the same time. The duckling in question appeared to be a gymnast, for it elegantly hopped over the stick each time it came towards its feet.

Daisy, who might well have been a duck in a previous life, was doing similar acrobatics across Mr Carson's legs, as she tried to be of assistance, but merely succeeded in trailing flour over the Butler's trousers, because she still held the bowl of dough she'd been kneading when the escapees had made their way into the kitchen, and her energetic activities jolted the contents of the bowl considerably.

If George had been able to see precisely what Mrs Patmore was doing, he would have been quite upset, but as it was he could merely hear her cackles, and thought she was laughing at the situation, when really she had grown bored with trying to rescue the ducklings and was leafing through one of her recipe books.

George grew bored of silently sitting on the stairs and ambled into the servant's hall, where he found a very morose Andy, sitting staring at a box which held three of his precious ducklings.

'Oh hello Master George.'

'Whass the matter Andy?'

Andy couldn't exactly explain to the small boy that this was the first time he'd ever seen ducklings, and whilst he'd be terrified about what he was supposed to do with them, he'd grown rather attached to these little balls of fluff, and he didn't want to let them go. Thankfully, George was rather perceptive and saw all of this in the footman's face.

'Come with me. Bring the ducklings.'

To say that Andy wasn't thinking when he followed the advice of a six year old is probably a gigantic understatement. Follow him he did, and found himself in the library, having escaped the notice of the rest of the hunting party, because they'd been gathered about the fireplace, trying to prevent two ducklings from making a nest in the wood pile. Sybbie might have spotted Andy's tailcoat whip around the corner, but chose to say nothing. She'd not told anyone about the piglet she'd hidden in her bedroom after all.

Sometime later a rather ruffled Mr Carson, curls askew, made his way upstairs, proudly holding a washed out pot, which contained two ducklings. He soon ran into his wife, who sat, surrounded by the ladies of the house, fondly looking at four ducklings, who were happily sitting in Lady Mary's hat, which was the only thing anyone could think of to hold them.

The ladies were shocked by Carson's appearance, given the line of soot down his shirt, the flour over his trousers, and his unkempt hair (which Mrs Carson quite liked), but were quickly distracted by this as the housekeeper demanded to know where Andy and the rest of the ducklings were.

'How am I to know?' the flustered butler snapped 'I've been too busy trying to prevent Mrs Patmore whipping up an orange sauce. And the mangle might be beyond repair, because the only way to get that one out was to dismantle the machine. Barrow thinks he can fix it, but I shan't hold my breath.'

'Never mind the mangle! I can't believe Andy would be ….'

Mrs Carson fell silent as her keen eyes spotted a certain child creep through the library door, followed by a decidedly guilty looking footman.

'Andy – where are the ducklings you were looking after?'

Confronted by a number of expectant faces, Andy said nothing, but it didn't matter, because he was betrayed by his accomplice.

'We've hidden them!' exclaimed George gleefully.

Mr Carson groaned loudly, but was surprised by the happy clapping of Sybbie and Marigold.

'A treasure hunt! I bet I know where they are, George wouldn't choose anywhere hard!' cried Sybbie, not realizing she'd insulted her cousin, and she rushed off to the library, Marigold and George close on her heels.

The adults all looked at each other and, shrugging, followed after the excited children.

Sybbie and Marigold were looking in the obvious places, under the sofas and such, egged on by George who stood in the middle of the room, giggling, and saying 'Nope, not there, not their either' at every attempt. They were making a great noise, but Mrs Carson, who had moved to the far end of the room thought she heard a noise, a duckling like noise, and pressed her finger to her lips.

'Shhhhh!'

Silence fell and almost immediately a 'peeeep' was heard, followed by two more, from a different part of the room. Mrs Carson looked at the desk in some surprise, and then back at George, who nodded solemnly.

Carefully, she opened one of the drawers and laughed as a yellow head popped up, a corner of writing paper in its mouth. One down.

Mary, still by the door, quickly shut it, and then heard another 'peeeep!' She moved along the bookcase, encouraged by further peeps and her excited son, who called out 'warmer Mama, warmer, oh, hot! Hot!'

She looked at the shelf in some confusion and then noticed one of the books slightly out of line. She drew it back and there was revealed the last two ducklings.

The box, which Andy had brought up, was discovered behind the curtain, and Mary carefully placed her two charges into it, before Edith emptied the hat of the four in her charge. The hat was ruined, but Mary couldn't find it in herself to care.

Mr Carson gingerly put the two in his pot in the box, careful of his fingers, and so the ducklings were all reunited.

'Thank goodness' Mrs Carson said, clearly exhausted by the whole escapade. 'Andy take them back to Mr Mason and tell him the abbey is no place for ducklings!'

'But Mr Tiddles!' wailed Marigold.

'Mr Tiddles will have to learn how to take care of himself darling' murmured Edith, hoping her daughter wasn't about to start crying again.

The family trooped off to the drawing room and regaled Messrs. Branson, Talbot and Pelham of the events. The men were rather disgruntled at having missed the fun, and their tea, which they had rung for, only to find themselves ignored. At least they knew why now.

Sybbie still didn't say anything about her piglet. She'd forgotten about it anyway.

Downstairs, normality had been restored, and Mrs Patmore had made a start on dinner, which she'd changed to fish, guessing that no one would want to eat poultry, even if it was Guinea Fowl. The staff all congregated in the hall, relishing a cup of tea after their drama.

Miss Baxter thought she may as well do something useful and pulled her sewing bag onto the table, opening it to drawl out a ball of wool (although why she was planning to make a scarf with summer on its way is anyone's guess). Used to the action, she did not look where she put her hand, and so let out a startled shriek – the loudest anyone had heard – and dropped the bag unceremoniously onto the table.

The entire staff had scrambled from their chairs at the noise and stared at the bag in wonder. Mr Molesley had bravely pushed himself in front of Miss Baxter, and now leaned towards the bag with shaking hands.

He pulled it open and then started to laugh uproariously. He stepped back, so everyone could see, and opened the bag wide. There was a momentary pause, and then a loud and grumpy 'peeep!' was heard, followed by the emergence of a little yellow body from the bag.

'I knew there were six!' cried Mr Carson, who was promptly silenced by the look his wife gave him. She scooped up the duckling and thrust it into the hands of the only just returned Andy, who trudged off back to the farm, promising himself that when he finally became a proper famer, his ducklings would be allowed in the house.

That was the end of the drama, although it did occasionally grow in the telling, depending on who was describing it. Marigold tended to gloss over her tears, and Cora always claimed to have played a larger part in the rescue, but in the end everyone always sang the praises of Mrs Carson, even if her husband did wince as he remembered his poor bitten fingers.

What was always mentioned, regardless of who told the story, was that Tiaa was discovered the following morning snuggling a piglet in the middle of the library and THAT caused even more chaos than the ducklings.

That however is a story for another time.

 **A/N: Well that was the maddest thing I've ever written. Thanks to Revfrog for giving me some other ideas when I was flagging. I'll go back to writing fluff now. A review or two would delight me no end!**


End file.
